Strangers
by johnnycakex3
Summary: What would have happened if someone had stopped Dally before he went over the edge?


It had been a long enough night, only to end with more false hope. Mom was dying; Blake and I both realized that, and we both realized we didn't know what would happen to us when she died.

Because, being a pessimist, I knew she wasn't recovering. We were poor, and the doctors told us she had a severe case of pneumonia. I had left Blake at a neighbor's house - he was only eleven, I didn't want him pulling all-nighters at the hospital with me - and now I was sitting in a stiff chair in the hallway outside of Mom's room. I hadn't let myself cry yet; I was sixteen, Blake's big sister, and I had to keep my composure for his sake. And for Mom's. She didn't realize she was about to die. She had been somewhat delirious the past week. She was out of it and confused, and even though it was tearing my insides apart, I wouldn't cry.

The hospital was almost completely silent. Every now and then you could hear the squeak of a nurses' shoes gliding on the cold tile floor, and there was a steady noise of beeps and buzzes from various machines - but deathly silence still enveloped the building. People were dying here. You could feel it in the air.

"It's pointless!" yelled a hysterical voice suddenly. "Why help people? It's no good! It doesn't do anything!" the voice screamed. I shook my head lightly, shaking the sleep from my face. Suddenly, a boy came running down the hall, crying and still shouting.

I jumped to my feet, instantly trying to think of ways to help. The boy ran out the back doors, slowing down slightly. Feeling annoyed that none of the hospital officials would be bothered to try and help him, I broke into a run after him. As I emerged from the hospital, winter air bit at my skin - I had forgotten my jacket.

The boy stopped for a second, unaware that I was just a few steps behind him. I saw his hands go to his face, muffling his cries. Slowly, he turned around. As he saw me, one hand went to his pocket - I felt my mouth go dry as he pulled out a gun.

"Leave me the hell alone," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. By the looks of him, he was a greaser. While I was poor, I had always taken care to not fall into that category - probably why I didn't have any friends. I was neither a greaser or a social. Nobody.

Not knowing what to do, I said, "Calm down. What...what's wrong? Are you okay?" I sounded shaky and unsure, but I stood my ground.

He started laughing, a sick, demented laugh. "Does it look like anything's wrong? I'm just great!"

I stared at him, feeling his dark brown eyes burning holes into my skin. "Why don't you just talk about it, before you do something stupid?" I asked harshly, folding my arms (more in an attempt to keep warm then anything else).

He laughed that horrible laugh again, but dropped the gun. It made a loud clatter on the asphalt of the parking lot we were standing in, but then the night faded into silence once again. "It wasn't loaded," he said after a minute of silence. He looked at the gun, locking his eyes on it. "Why the fuck do good people die?" he finally sputtered.

His voice sounded pathetic, like a lost little boy. I smiled bitterly, thinking of Mom. "Because the world's messed up," I replied, sitting down on the curb.

Slowly, he sat down next to me. His breathing became heavy, and he started crying. Softly at first, but then more and more rapidly. Awkwardly, I put one arm around him in an attempt of comforting him. I felt tears forming in my eyes, and at first I denied them.

But as I ran my fingers through his greased up hair, and felt his body against mine...I let the tears fall.

When he realized I was crying, he looked up at me and stared at me for a second. That was when I realized how beautiful his face was. His eyes were hard and untrusting, but the tears that were clinging to them made them appear softer. High cheekbones accentuated his face nicely, and as he gently put his arm around me...I felt completely at ease for the first time in months. His touch was warm and comforting, and we both welcomed the embrace.

The two of us sat there on the curb for what seemed like hours, crying to each other. I guess sometimes the only people you can open up to are strangers. The night remained frosty, but I hardly noticed. Glittering stars twinkled above us, each one like a tiny bit of hope. That was what the night was suddenly filled with - hope.

I never saw him again, after that night. Mom died a few days afterward, and Blake and I were put into a foster home (together, thank God) a few hours away from Tulsa. I learned a lot that night, though. I learned that there is no strength in holding in your emotions - that's just fear. I also learned that life isn't fair. It's not about playing by the rules and being nice. In life, you have to create your own rules. You have to write your own rulebook and make your own hope and luck. You can't always depend on the people you love to be there for you.

But if you're lucky...you just might find a stranger to hold you while you cry. 


End file.
